


break in the horizon

by swissmilklesbians (uglyspacegay)



Category: Smosh
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dad Ian Hecox, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fantasy AU, Friends to Lovers, I'll add more tags as i go, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Wingwoman Olivia Sui, i'd die for wing woman olivia sui, please tell me what else to tag this as, some annoyed gay vibes, some idiot lesbian vibes, some tired bi vibes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 14:10:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16348202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglyspacegay/pseuds/swissmilklesbians
Summary: Boze is of the firm belief that everything can be magical if you try hard enough, and that everything is better with magic. She thinks that everyone should have this belief.Courtney doesn't know Boze, but she'd disagree. Just because she's a witch doesn't mean she thinks magic is perfect. You have to be careful.Shayne and Damien were so tantalizingly close to not being involved in this mess at all. They don't want to be a part of this mess. Right?Olivia is there for support, and also because her premonitions are helpful. Lasercorn needs to be found again, before he wreaks havoc, Mari has once more disappeared into the night, but she can stay there, damn it, Sohinki could be doing literally anything else, that would be nice, Wes should be here helping, but of course he's gone, and Joven needs to calm down. Please. Oh, and Ian is there.





	break in the horizon

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, honestly, I don't know what I'm doing. I've kind of got a plan, but you and I will be figuring this out together. You have to help, okay? Anyway, this is a labor of love and I'm super happy to be able to get a fic out for Halloween! Sorry this first chapter is so short...
> 
> Please comment and come find me on my tumblr, [@swissmilklesbians](https://swissmilklesbians.tumblr.com/). Love ya, happy Halloween, candy corn is shit and you can fight me on that.

It's when the light shines through her windows and filters its way past her thick velvet curtains, spilling the morning light onto her bare hardwood floors in shades of red. The space of her cottage is half-lit from it, dust motes clear in the air, the few furniture items magenta colored. Boze sits on her floor, when this happens, eyes mostly closed, and that's when it is. She smells the candles that are pools of uncleanable wax on her floors and bookshelves. She tastes the herbs that hang tightly packed on her ceilings and her walls. She hears the wind whistling through her walls and the rain dripping through her ceiling. She feels the way the spirits are getting restless, and her soul feels restless too, she can see, eyes heavy lidded and unopened, the way the spirits dance in front of her, ready.

 

She needs to go into town.

 

Her cackling surprises her, a ripple of bright sound through the stagnant darkness. She stands up on tired, wobbling legs, stepping over to open her blood colored curtains, caressing the soft fabric. The sun hits the inside of the cottage like a well-timed blow, shaking it, and she hears one of her cats hissing. It's probably Polyhymnia, who likes to hide amongst the books, coming out only to eat and glare at Boze inquisitively. The cats were a gift from a friend, one who was determined to prove that she could like animals. She had grown accustomed to her three cats, even to the point of being reluctant of leaving them to go to town, but is still wary of other animals, even the domesticated pets.

 

The cats are not the only reason she is hesitant of going to town. She is well known in these parts as a witch—in fact, she needs to gather her wares if she's going to town, selling predictions and tonics and charms—but people are always a bit anxious around magic users. Especially after both the Assassin and the Warlock. She shakes her hair out, knowing it needs a brush. She often looks the part of a witch, in all black, with silver piercings, and messy waves of hair. A bath and a beauty charm will work fine, and Boze could use a mint bath and lemongrass lotion application for her health, anyway.

 

She sets up the bath, toodling around the house barefoot, and Erato comes over to see what all the fuss is about. She is offered a catnip charm for her trouble, so she soon leaves Boze to find lime zest and cinnamon sticks on her own. Once all the needed items are gathered, put into a sack for walking over to the marble tub, and transported next to the hyssop on the tub, she goes to retrieve her lotion and sit in the bath for a while. The water is a little under lukewarm to the hot air outside, and, in all fairness, it is the seventh month of the year. She slips in unclothed, goosebumps trailing up her flesh, breathing in the scent of the herbs and loving the cold sting of the marble.

 

The light of the young sun that had wafted through her red window dressings stays with her, though, so thoughts flit in and out of her mind. She’s focusing better now, thanks both to the bath and the rosemary in it. After quite a while, Erato tip toes in, noticeably without her charm. Boze ignores her, concentrating instead on her half-formed plan, collecting the components in her mind, shifting concepts and implementations around in her mind. She sighs, a whit away from grasping the design, looking over to Erato, who has been mewling incessantly. The cat has a flower, a tiny, lavender-esque, tall, purple flower.

 

Vervain should do quite nicely.

 

Boze heaves herself out of the bath, flower petals and herb leaves clinging to her wet skin, and sets the finishing touches in her mind. Another cackle tumbles out of her mouth, and, plus the plan and its objective, she supposes the townspeople have reason to be suspicious of magic users. Blue vervain and coltsfoot, lavender and mandrake, marshmallow root, rose, dittany of Crete—if she can get it. Honey will be needed as well, and a cleansing tea before she starts, although the bath had done much of the same. She wraps a silk robe around herself, Erato following on her heels, Calliope appearing out of nowhere to join them, and Polyhymnia making another rare appearance from the shelf next to her. Black cats really can feel magic, it appears.

 

She amasses her herbs, three bucketsful, and sets a kettle on the stove. It glows with her fire magic and she considers just paying for electricity. Much more predictable. She sets about as always, putting everything in its place, humming a little theme-song she has written for herself. She tosses Erato a bit of dried fish she finds in the pantry as a thank you for the blue vervain and the other two meow sorrowfully. The remaining ingredients are found quickly, a large rose quartz and garnet cauldron—cracked—procured, and power charged candles placed appropriately.

 

It only takes a few hours for her to be finished, making a mental note to make some new moon water when she returns from town. She bottles the royal purple liquid in a greenish stained-glass flask, and sticks it in the bottom of her backpack. She gathers herbs and stuffs them in, shoves some crystals and stones over them, and tops it off with charms and spell papers. Her bag is heavy and she considers a lightness spell, but decides against it—it could corrupt the contents.

She heaves the bag onto her shoulder and looks at her cats. Polyhymnia looks right back at her, intelligent green eyes indifferent, but Erato jumps down to nudge her. It’s Calliope that interests her, though, with cold blue eyes that track every movement of the house while watching her intently. Boze matches the brunt of her gaze, then nods thoughtfully, as if she has talked to the cat.

 

It’s time for them to go.

 

She grabs another backpack, this one larger, and runs off to her room, scrounging up clothes without looking and throwing them in. She pulls her shoes on, clunky boots that come up to her knees and enjoys their noise on the few large shards of marble tile that are still on the ground of the cottage. It’s 8:00 AM, so, if she leaves now, Boze should get to town around 1:00 PM. It would be so much faster if she had only enchanted a broom to fly, rather than to sweep. Her car is old, old enough to be considered a classic, which is nice, except for when it doesn’t run at the end of winter or start of summer, or when it

 

She lets Polyhymnia bop her fuzzy head against her hand as goodbye, before she slinks off to her bookshelves. Erato watches her carefully, meows quietly, and also takes her leave. Calliope walks right past her, out of the door, and waits patiently by the run-down Thunderbird. Boze leaves food for the rest of her cats, plus, in the woods, they’ll hunt outside. The sun is hot on her neck as she follows Calliope’s path out the door. It will only get hotter and she twists her hair up and to the side, scooching it away from her neck, and remembering her beauty charm. She finds one in the glove compartment, as well as a jar of honey she sticks the tip of her finger in to rub into her lips like a balm. It will make her words sweeter.

 

She turns the car on and it rumbles for a bit, prompting a sigh, before it kicks into gear. She smiles at Calliope, who sits on the passenger seat, watching her unblinkingly, before setting off with a groan from the chassis. Boze whispers a spell of speed and good travels under her breath as she traces a sigil for safety and well being on the steering wheel. The route out here is rough, more a suggested pathway with slightly beaten down shrubbery than an actual road. Her car bounces with a few squeaks and whines as she hits rocks and brakes for animals, but she makes the first few hours it takes without much adventure. A robin flies above her car for a moment, before a brown mouse scampers across the road in front of her, and she takes a mental note to remind herself what a brown mouse means.

 

The robin is an omen of good luck.

 

At 11:23, she breaks out of the woods, and the rest of her journey will be easier. Calliope stretches, silent, and Boze mutters to her as if she is a human, more than if she were human, telling her they’ll be able to get out once they hit Angelshire, and then it’s just the little towns, and Francisco-on-the-Water, and then they’re there. Angelshire is still quite a bit away, thirty minutes just to get to a tiny town whose main merit is having electricity and running water. She does like living in the woods, but it’s so far from everything and everyone.

 

They get to Angelshire around 12:00, Calliope dropping herself out of the open window to wander off as they pull into a gas station. Once gas is effectively being pumped into the car, she goes inside, breezes pulling at her hair and clothes as she walks. The convenience store has no air conditioning and none of the breezes of outside, so it’s an empty heat as she makes her way to the bathroom, pulling at her sweat sticky shirt. She looks into the mirror as she walks to the stalls, the glass broken in webbed cracks, pulling away from the aluminum behind it.

 

She pees, then scrambles out of the bathroom. Her boots click on the linoleum, unable to break the silence, because there isn’t a silence in a dirty 7-Eleven that’s thirty minutes away from the woods. She buys coffee in the store, as well as chips she’ll share with Calliope in the car. The guy looks at her weirdly as he cashes her out and she blows a kiss at him, murmuring a kindness spell under her breath. She searches in her backpack and only finds five dollars, but he lets her go.

 

The air is still hot, but now it’s empty of breezes, still as the petrified forests, but not quite as magical. She climbs into her car, and it smells like gas now, and burning rubber, but she just grabs a herb packet and sticks it on her dash. Boze closes her eyes before she turns on her car, drinking in her purpose, turning the spell and its enchantment over and over in her head, flashes of pale rose color and deep blue streaks, a scent of basil that touches her deep and clenches its hand around her lungs, squeezing. She chokes, opening her eyes, gasping for a moment, but ignoring it in favor of sticking her key into the ignition and turning.

 

Calliope appears through the open passenger door as soon as the car sputters to life. She reaches over her to tug the door closed, and they get going. The GPS says they’ll get there at 1:11, but she doubts it. The country roads by the little towns are always a little harder than the GPS assumes, so she casts another travel charm, digging a few crystals and herbs out of her backpack. The road is, again, long and empty, mile after mile of Califernland road, flowers that have scents that waft in and push knowledge of their meanings to the forefront of her mind.

 

Alfalfa sends thoughts of good fortune, spearmint comes with psychic abilities and cleansing, bearberry of courage and awareness, mistletoe for luck with money and love spells. Calliope stares out of the window, squinting annoyedly when they pass small animals and backing away when a coyote reveals itself by the edge of the woods. Animals sound their calls as they go, but she forgets their meanings as soon as they come.

 

At 1:11, the GPS changes its mind and chooses 1:32 as their time of arrival. They’re close by the biggest town in this part of Califernland—Ovenshire, presided over by the Ovenshires. They passed Francisco-on-the-Water a while ago, but there’s no reason to stop there unless you like bad traffic, rainy weather, and bridges. Ovenshire also has better market for magical products, especially as it is a haven, more-or-less safe, for travelers. Boze goes to Ovenshire pretty often, every month or so, often just to walk around the city’s high walls and collect herbs and pretty rocks.

 

She met the Assassin there.

 

She shivers when she thinks of the Assassin, Calliope’s hair shooting straight up for a moment as she searches for the danger. Better not to fixate on that then, she’s got an intention to keep her mind on, now. A cackle finds its way out from between her lips and Calliope stretches languidly on her seat, reassured. If she focuses, Boze can feel the magical aura of the potion in her bag, a strong pulling sensation that intensifies every time a bump brings it closer to the malachite crystal.

 

They pass the sign welcoming them to Ovenshire when it’s 1:27 and her GPS still says 1:32, but she’s betting on 1:40-some. She stops by a farm that has sacks of produce put out on the side of the road, a gift for traveling magic users if they’ll leave a gift of their own. She leaves her own sack, malachite and a potion that’s basically a good fertilizer with some growth magic herbs in. She picks a bag of fruit and berries and stuffs it in the back of her car. If she hadn’t chosen it, it would’ve gone bad, apricots and cherries and blackberries and peaches and plums rotting on in the burlap by the road. Besides, she likes peaches.

 

She makes it into the outskirts of town at 1:39, and her destination, a market for goods of all sorts, at 1:44. She gets out right near the market-square, parking in a lot for a café. She tugs her smaller backpack out viciously, toppling to the side, unbalanced, when it finally comes free. This time Calliope will go with her wherever she goes. Like Boze, she doesn’t trust people she doesn’t know, and neither of them know much of the people in Ovenshire. When they get to the market, she has her own stall, just for her, despite not being there often.

 

Time to work some magic.

 

Literally. She pulls her stuff out of the bag, pushing her crystals to a small dip in the table she’s using, an almost bowl carved right into it, her herbs into the next, charms after, lotions, balms, soaps, bath bombs, other things she’s made go into the next, and the last for potions and spells. As soon as she is situated, nothing with signs, so she can attach the proper amount of money however she sees fit, she starts calling.

 

Her voice is loud, carrying through the square, but every other vendor is also yelling, item after item and price after price. She extols the merits of her products and soon she has travelers gathering for charms of safety and fast travels, she bestows amulets on people as if they are meant for them specifically, teaches young girls sigils of beauty to trace into their makeup pans, gives harried college students crystals to put in their pencil bags.

 

By 2:50, she’s made a killing, in both actual money and traded items. She sips a cinnamon coffee from the café down the street’s booth. She has no hurry for her real plan here, but it would be nice to implement it on the first day, just to watch as it goes along. If she wants it done today, she doesn’t have too much time, if her memory serves. She sells three charms and a lotion, smiling at the middle aged lady who buys them, before leaning back and taking another drink of her coffee.

 

She’s running out of items to sell today, not that her backpack is, by any means, empty. Her charms for the day are nearly all gone, her herbs have disappeared, and all she’s got left are soaps that require rituals. She ducks under her booth to inspect the things she’s traded for. There’s honey from that farmer she likes, a jacket the previous owner said they had had for a few years, a bouquet of flowers she will take apart and dry, an empty leather-bound notebook, a handful of assorted crystals from below a waterfall, water collected from the first snowfall, and a set of new ponytail holders.

 

Next to those, in a basket, are her amulets, incense, tarot sets, crystal ball, and scrying bowl. Well, then, time to tarot. She pops up to find a man inspecting her charms. He blushes when she asks him to pay and then slaps down some money and is on his way. Now Boze pulls her items into their proper spots in her backpack, zips it closed with a whirr, and grabs her tarot cards. It’s a few minutes to three, so she pulls a sign from underneath her counter, and chalks onto it that tarot readings will start then.

 

She sits for the first time since she’s started selling, the sudden change in altitude making her head spin for a moment, the nonexistent breezes doing nothing to cool her from the hot sun that has cooled since midday. When she closes her eyes, the Sorcerer’s magic appears in her sight, streaks of lightning-like energy bursting from his staff. It sends a coolness down her throat, pooling in her lungs, dripping down her esophagus, burning her stomach with a freezing touch that soon reveals itself to be heat, heat so hot it’s cold, stinging everything it touches.

 

Her eyes fly open, and she finds herself holding her body like she’s going to throw up. It passes and she forces herself away from the flame-haired man that wrought havoc on the lands. There’s a woman at her booth, standing next to a taller man, smiling curiously and humming quietly. She has long dark hair and pale skin and she holds herself like a dancer or a deer. Boze thinks of many names that could fit her, but when she offers Olivia, it seems like the only one that could ever have been hers.

 

They could be the start of Boze’s plan.

 

She sits down, asking for a tarot and then ruins her chances at being victim by saying that she’s a witch, but more of an eccentric witch with interest in herbs, and that she’s never learned tarot but she likes to get it done. The man walks away and Boze bites back a sigh and asks her what kind of spread she’d like. All Olivia knows is the three card spread and so instead she has a Celtic spread chosen for her. A good way to start her tarot reads anyway, to get her back into the groove of reading other people.

 

The spread goes quickly and soon Olivia is on her way, asking Boze’s name and petting Calliope. This is surprising, because Calliope is distrustful _and_ aloof, and a good judge of character. She ignores it, because other people file in, getting spreads for love and money and career and that test in Astrophysics on Monday. After almost an hour, she reads her last spread of the day and starts to pack up. Tomorrow will be the day, then.

 

Two boys near her booth as she packs up, one dark haired, the other blonde. They ask for one last spread from her, and she almost says no, but Calliope meows, loudly, and purrs when the brunette puts his hand on her. Boze watches them carefully, wondering if, since this is the second time, Calliope is just being sweet today. Then Calliope fixes her with that blue-eyed stare and Boze pulls her cards back out.

 

The spread is simple, one Boze created and has used for years, telling four cards of future with only the Major Arcana. Their first is the Magician, reversed. The Fool comes reversed as well, but the Moon is upright. Boze laughs, not quite a cackle, but something close, earning weird looks from the boys. What a spread this is. Last is another reversed card, one that stops her in her tracks. Wheel of Fortune.

 

It’s them, these two, the meant to be.

 

She holds onto the card at the bottom of her deck, just in case, just if she needs confirmation before she gives it to them. It’s 3:57 and she must work quickly, digging around in her bag until she finds the bottle, stained glass. There are artisan cups on the stall next to her, and she steals two, placing a charm of prosperity on the table.

 

They look at her weirdly and she makes promises, swearing at herself and pouring the liquid with shaking hands. She offers the cups to them, eyeing the clock, eyeing the clock. They look at her warily, then look at each other, one laughing and the other shrugging, as long term best friends do. She looks at the clock again, nervously, it’s 3:59, tick, tick, tick, and then it’s four and the bells in the church behind them toll and the boys toast each other and take the potion like shots.

 

Boze sighs happily and waves them away, telling them it’s free of charge. Four o’clock, post meridiem, on a Friday, end of July, moon in Taurus, she couldn’t have possibly done better. A gaggle of twittering girls arrive at her stall, but she tells them to come back anytime tomorrow, she’s done for today. She finally packs up, taking her time, waiting. When everything is done, she holds the card in her hand like a crown jewel, knowing, _knowing_ , just what it is. She turns it over in her hand and the day is complete.

 

It’s the Lovers.


End file.
